


and maybe one day i'll get around to fixing myself, too

by SpectralHeart



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Exhaustion, Fainting, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Morality | Patton Sanders-centric, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Overworking, Sick Character, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 00:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19983088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpectralHeart/pseuds/SpectralHeart
Summary: Patton’s getting real sick of this.(Or: The other three have all fallen ill with a nasty flu. In their absence, while Patton looks after the mindscape, who’s looking after him?)





	and maybe one day i'll get around to fixing myself, too

****The mindscape was clean out of Kleenex.

 _Ah,_ thought Patton, moments before promptly bursting into tears.

***

Approximately half an hour later, as Patton wiped down a pair of tear-stained glasses with the hem of his shirt, the thought occurred to him that he may be slightly more ill than he'd first thought.

Not that it really mattered at this point. Logan hadn’t left his room in days; Virgil, his bed; Roman was borderline delirious already. What with all four of them having somehow managed to fall sick at the same time, _someone_ had to take responsibility. And seeing as Patton was currently the only one who could stay awake for more than five minutes at a time, that someone might as well be — 

“Achoo!”

— him.

Patton sniffled, instinctively reaching for the tissue box before remembering what had caused his breakdown in the first place. 

He frowned. Over the past few days, that box had grown to become his dearest friend; Patton scarcely went anywhere without bringing it along. They had bonded! Something about throwing it out so carelessly, like nothing more than a worthless object... it just rubbed — 

“Achoo!”

Rubbed him the wrong — 

_“Achoo!”_

Frown deepening, Patton mentally added 'replace tissue box' to his ever-growing list of things to do.

Gosh, if only Logan were here. How much simpler managing the mindscape would be with one of those handy-dandy schedules the logical Side always seemed to have on hand (pun intended)! Patton had tried to write up a few of his own in Logan's absence, but it just wasn't the same. 

So here he was, stuck struggling to remember everything at once. _Tidy the living room. Wipe down the counters. Hang the laundry out to dry._ Patton ticked the items off one by one on his fingers as he ran through the familiar list. He was forgetting something, wasn't he? _Replace the tissues. Wash the dishes in the sink. Make sure the others are drinking enough..._ Aha, that was it!

Patton was a little wobbly as he made his way into the kitchen, but managed to fill three glasses of water without once coughing into any of them — at this point, that was a win in his book. The hard part would be delivering them to the others.

At first, he tried carrying the cups on a makeshift cutting-board-turned-serving-tray. It took about two steps to realize that wasn’t going to work. His sense of balance was already poor enough when he _wasn’t_ also dealing with a nasty cough, full-body chills, and a headache intense enough to make the room spin. “I may be a glass half full kind of guy, but sometimes you just gotta know when it’s time to _drop_ it,” he said (out loud for some reason), followed by a solid minute of giggling.

 _Wow,_ he thought once he’d recovered enough to form coherent thoughts again. _I am_ really _out of it today._

Having now washed his hands of the water puns — _nope, try again._

Having now gotten the water puns out of his system, Patton was ready to try a different angle. He left two cups on the table this time, opting instead to use both hands to carry just one. There’d be less spillage that way. For sure, it would take much more energy to make the trip up and down the painfully long spiral staircase (a result of Roman’s whimsy from a time when they were all more spritely) three times instead of one, but he couldn’t imagine an empty drinking glass would do anyone any good. 

Besides, Patton was willing to do just about anything if it meant helping the other Sides recover faster.

***

The first trip he managed with relative ease; Patton entered Logan’s bedroom to find him sound asleep, as expected. Tiptoeing so as not to disturb his slumber, Patton quietly set the glass of water at Logan’s bedside table, where he’d be sure to see it if — when — he woke up. 

In the corner of the room, something began to buzz. Patton let out a _tch_ when he saw what it was: an alarm clock that had apparently fallen off the bookshelf to bury itself deep into a pile of discarded clothing. _Really, Logan — you’re_ still _trying to get work done? In this state?_ He hurried to shut the alarm off before its muffled ringing could register in Logan’s illness-addled brain. _Silly duck’s going to exhaust himself if he’s not careful._

The last thing Patton was expecting was to be unable to even locate the alarm. What had looked like nothing more than an innocent pile of fabric from across the room soon revealed itself to be an absolute _mess_ of a garbage heap. The wrinkled polo shirts and ties were only the surface of the problem (literally); underneath them hid all manner of odds, bobs, hammers and tongs, metal scraps and fizzled-out lights and pages upon pages of crumpled-up notebook paper. Whatever this project of Logan’s was, it did not look simple.

Nor did it look at all organized, in fact, which was quite a contrast to Logan’s usual love of the methodical. It appeared the sickness was taking its toll.

Giving up on the alarm clock search for a moment, Patton peered around to spot even more things that were just slightly out of place. A book out of place on the shelf. A tie clip left on the dresser. A corner peeling off of the crooked periodic table poster on the wall. And, at the foot of Logan’s bed, several small cardboard boxes that hadn’t been tucked away. 

Patton squinted at the boxes. Thick black Sharpie lines were scrawled into the side of each one, labels for them all. One, he could identify as ‘Green LEDs’; the others were harder to see from where he was, but he was willing to bet they were storage boxes as well.

Just then, the alarm clock abruptly stopped ringing, prompting Patton to glance back down at the pile he was trying to sort through. A flash of colour caught his attention: a bright green sticky note. Patton unfolded it to see ‘don’t forget to sort the supplies’ scrawled hastily across the paper, with the last few letters in ‘supplies’ trailing off as if Logan had barely managed to scribble out his message before falling into bed.

Well, while Patton was here, perhaps he ought to lend Logan a hand. Separating stuff into boxes seemed easy enough, right? And this pile must be a tripping hazard. With that in mind, Patton got to work. 

Excruciatingly slow work. There was enough junk in that one pile to last Logan a lifetime, it seemed. Still, figuring out which little pieces went in which box did get easier over time, so he kept at it. 

Eventually, everything was in its place but the shirts and ties, which Patton folded and left on the ground for Logan to organize as he pleased when he was feeling well enough. _That’s better. Clutter-free, just as Logan likes it._

Then, with that taken care of, Patton had to come face-to-face with an unpleasant truth: it was time for him to brave the stairs once more. 

On a regular day, he’d bound down two steps at a time, maybe even slide on the railing if he was feeling particularly energetic. Today, on the other hand, it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other, clinging to that same railing the whole way. 

The brief feeling of pride when he finally reached the bottom was quickly swallowed by the realization that he still needed to run (or rather climb) that gauntlet twice more. 

Patton grabbed the second cup of water with a groan. _Let’s get this over with._

***

The door to Virgil’s bedroom swung open with barely a whisper. Inside, rows and rows of cobwebs stretched from floor to ceiling between the door and where Virgil lay fast asleep — a veritable horror that would usually send Patton away screaming, but these days he was almost too tired to care. Covering the rim of the cup with the palm of one hand, Patton carefully picked his way through to Virgil’s bed, where he could at last drop off his cargo. 

He meant to leave immediately after that, not wanting to spend even a second longer than necessary lingering in the surely spider-infested room. Unfortunately, he didn’t get very far.

Patton’s hand was on the doorknob when it happened: without warning, Virgil began thrashing around in bed, violently enough to make Patton jump. Beads of sweat were breaking out on the poor anxious Side’s upper lip and forehead, the latter creased tightly in his distress, the former trembling in a silent scream. As Patton watched, Virgil’s movements grew more and more frenzied — bed sheets weaving between his legs, back arching, fingers clawing at some invisible foe...

Within the same instant, Patton was back at Virgil’s side. “Hey, hey, _hey,”_ he comforted, “it’s okay. You’re safe. Papa Patton’s gonna protect you from the nasty night terrors, alright?” As Patton continued to make soft, soothing sounds, he gently took one of Virgil’s hands between his own, rubbing protective little circles with his thumb. “Shh. I’m right here. Shh.” 

_Jeez, he’s really burning up_. The temperature of Virgil’s hand alone was through the roof — no wonder he was so feverish. Still, Patton didn’t let go of that hand until his kiddo had fully calmed down.

Now what? As badly as he wanted to just get out then and there (the sooner he was away from the cobwebs, the better), Patton couldn’t very well abandon Virgil like this. Paternal instincts kicked in; before he even knew what he was doing, Patton had taken hold of the mess of blankets tangled at Virgil’s feet and was methodically fluttering it out until the fabric was smooth again. That taken care of, he gave the blanket one last swish before settling it oh-so-lightly overtop of Virgil’s sleeping form, tucking the edges in snugly to make sure the fit was more secure this time. A quick fluff of the pillows around Virgil’s head, and he was done. 

Satisfied at last, Patton stepped back to admire his handiwork. It was difficult to look away, really — Virgil, a shock of pale skin against the mountainous backdrop of dark blankets and pillows, seemed years younger in this state. Softer somehow. Especially without the usual eyeshadow darkening his eyes or the brooding expression darkening all his other features, he looked… vulnerable.

“Sleep tight, kiddo,” whispered Patton as the door clicked shut. 

Turning away, Patton breathed a sigh of relief. _Two down, only one to go._

***

At first, Patton had hoped Roman would forgive him for saving the royalty for last. 

By the time he’d stumbled down and up the stairs again, though, Patton wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive _himself_ for making himself take that trip three times in a row — he was just about ready to keel over on the spot. About halfway up, he’d been seized out of the blue by a coughing fit that took a lifetime for that to pass. 

Ironically, his symptoms only went downhill the higher he climbed. What began as a faint ringing in his ears eventually grew loud enough that he could hardly focus on anything else, and the more Patton tried to will away the dark spots crowding at the corners of his vision, the more persistent they became.

But the weight of the glass of water clasped securely in his hands had remained mostly unchanged throughout the entire hike. Still full. _The water… is that really_ _what I was doing?_ It seemed such a small thing now, to be at the root of all this misery.

But no — he couldn’t start doubting himself now, not when he was so close to being finished. Patton shut his eyes tight and gave his head a firm shake. That managed to clear away some of the dark spots, at least. Good enough.

“Okay… _okay._ I can do this,” Patton panted, sounding to his own ears even less confident than he felt. Yet still he pushed onward, determined to finish what he’d started. 

Every step felt like wading through a sea of molasses. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Right foot — no, left — no — 

_Who am I kidding? I can’t do this._

In the middle of the hallway, Patton stopped, feeling an all-too-familiar tickle beginning to form in the back of his throat. _No, no, no, no, no..._ He wasn’t sure he was capable of handling a repeat performance, especially not while he was still coping with the aftershock of the last one. Swallowing hard, Patton tried to force the cough down and keep moving.

It didn’t take long to figure out that ignoring the situation wasn’t going to be an option for him. The tickle was unbearable. _Maybe if I could just clear my throat,_ Patton conceded, _just lighten the pressure a bit…_

That was all the permission his body needed. The thought had barely finished forming when the figurative frog in his throat came leaping out, doubling Patton over into one of the most painful hacking coughs he’d ever experienced. His chest felt like it was ripping to shreds. Blindly, he passed the drinking glass into one hand, then threw the other outward, feeling around for a wall on which he could steady himself.

Instead, his fingers gripped something warm. Sturdy, too. 

The coughing momentarily subsided as Patton’s brain struggled to make sense of this new development. His gaze traced down to his hand, which was hanging for dear life onto... someone’s shoulder.

“Thomas? Is that you?” the shoulder said.

Patton did a double-take. Not because a shoulder was talking to him — the shoulder wasn’t talking at all, actually; shockingly enough there was a head was attached to that shoulder and of course it was the head that had spoken really — but because the voice was so familiar, and yet its owner had _no business_ being out and about right now. 

“...Roman?” Patton tried, tentative (his vision was still hazy).

“Roman,” the voice repeated, equal parts ponderous and absent-minded. “Huh, that’s a funny word. Roman. Roman.” Rolling the R’s: _“Rrrroman. Rrrroamin’_ the halls… stalking the halls, for the thrill of the kill. She’s the apex predator! Jungle _rrrr-_ royalty! Watch out, everybody — this kitty’s got clawwwws.”

Yep, definitely Roman. 

Poor guy was _rrrr-_ raving, though. Seeing his friend like this was just enough to snap Patton out of his own feverish state. In alarm, he exclaimed, “Roman, what are you doing out of bed? You should be resting!” 

“Who, me? Oh, so _I’m_ the Roman. What are you, then? Floman? Wait, no I’ve got it — Snoman!” Roman giggled hysterically at his own joke before suddenly breaking into raucous song. _“Frosty the snowman...”_

“Okay! Okay, okay, shh, okay,” interjected Patton, trying to speak over the singing. “Roman, you’ve got a lovely voice, but you’re _sick_ right now _,_ kiddo, you understand? And you’re going to hurt that voice _and_ the rest of your body if you don’t take care of ‘em. So do your favourite snowman a favour and drink this for me.”

Patton tried to hand off the (somehow still mostly-full) glass of water to Roman then, but instead of taking it, Roman just stared in a mixture of confusion and fascination.

Patton sighed. “Alright, plan B. Sit down.” Keeping his grip on Roman’s shoulder firm, he carefully settled Roman down to the ground, back against the wall. 

A crooked smile. _How long has it been since the last time I said this?_

“Here comes the airplane.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Roman’s own mouth opened obediently. Patton raised an eyebrow. _Huh. I wasn’t expecting that to actually work._

Not that he was complaining. Sip by sip, he coaxed the water into Roman until the glass was empty, Roman’s clouded-yet-curious eyes peering up at him through lidded lashes the entire time. When he was finished, Roman made grabby hands. “More.”

“I can’t, bud, I’m all out.”

 _“More,”_ Roman insisted, voice scratching painfully. 

_He’s probably been coughing that poor throat raw, too, hasn’t he?_ Patton realized. Figures he’d want more water. With a fond sigh, Patton gave Roman the now-empty glass. This seemed to placate him; as Patton helped him to his feet, he continued to hold tightly to the drinking glass as if it were a lifeline.

“I’ll bring you more for real once we get you to your bedroom,” promised Patton as he slung one of Roman’s limp arms over his own shoulder. Guiding Roman one step at a time, the two slowly hobbled back in the direction Roman had come, the thick silence occasionally punctuated with a sudden outburst which Patton quickly shushed. 

He hadn’t noticed at first, but Patton could feel the sick Side’s body shivering against him all the way. 

The short walk still proved exhausting to Roman, apparently; already half-asleep by the time they arrived, Roman didn’t waste any time dropping off into dreamland. Patton was left with the unenviable task of wrestling all of Roman’s _many_ duvets, blankets, comforters, and accent pillows into some semi-functional-looking arrangement. 

As he did so, the mental image of Virgil caught in the middle of an awful night terror kept flickering through his mind. A twinge of guilt. _While I’ve been over here feeling sorry for myself over a silly little cold,_ Patton realized, _these three have been_ way _worse off. Roman couldn’t even remember his own name! And Logan… Logan’s still working himself down to the bone. I should have realized sooner. I should have taken better care of them._ Should have, should have, should have.

_But I didn’t, did I?_

Patton rose to his feet, gently pulled the empty drinking glass out of Roman’s grasp (who mumbled an incoherent protest, but let go without much resistance). Maybe it was silly to have gone through so much trouble just to make sure his three little sleepy-heads drank something, but it was what was best for them, and Patton would do it all again in a heartbeat.

Really, he would. He was going to _have_ to at least three times a day, anyway, if he wanted the other Sides to recover anytime soon.

And oh, at this point, he’d really love nothing more. Then and there, listening to Roman’s softly rumbling snores, Patton made a resolution: _Whatever the cost,_ _if it helps you, I’ll do it. I’d do_ anything _for you three._

“Hang in there, Roman,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be feeling better in no time.”

***

 _Tidy the living room._ _Wipe down the counters._ _Hang the laundry out to dry._ _Wash the dishes in the sink._

~~Are the others still asleep?~~

_Vacuum the kitchen._ _Sort the bookshelves._ _Prepare dinner._ _Check on Virgil._ _Check on Roman._ _Check on Logan._

~~Did I check on Virgil? Better check again just to be safe.~~

_Power nap. Breakfast time._

~~Hang the laundry out to dry… no, it’s already out there _._ ~~

_Wash the dishes. Make sure the others are staying hydrated._

~~Logan hasn’t touched any of his food since yesterday. The others seem to be awake more often, though.~~

_Power nap. Dust the mantelpiece. Power nap._

~~Shoot, that was definitely longer than a power nap.~~

_Organize the medicine cabinet. Water the plants._ _Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner._ _Breakfast._ _Lunch. Dinner. Breakfast. Lunch._

_When was the last time I tidied the living room?_

***

The strangest part was that Patton wasn’t cold at all. Quite the opposite, in fact; even the slightest of movements left him sweating nowadays, to say nothing of his twice-daily trips and up and down the stairs. Patton hadn’t had time to check his own temperature or anything, but was fairly certain he knew what the thermometer would tell him: burning up (and burning out).

So how come he couldn’t stop shivering?

 _Maybe I should ask Logan,_ Patton thought, before remembering that was out of the question. Sure, the others were doing much better recently, but Patton's promise had been to nurse them to _full_ health, hadn't it? They needed their rest. He could handle a little shakiness in the meantime. 

Besides, it was probably just jitters from all the coffee he'd been drinking. After that time he'd accidentally slept through an entire afternoon, Patton had been fueling up on caffeine so as not to risk a repeat performance.

 _Speaking of which._ He peered over the rim of his empty mug. Time for a refill. 

As he half-walked, half-stumbled into the kitchen, Patton mentally sifted through his list again. Had he washed the dishes after lunch? 

No sooner than the thought occurred to him, he could swear he could hear the kitchen faucet start to run; the sound of plates and utensils clinking soon followed. Patton's brow furrowed. He couldn't afford to be going insane right now — he didn't have the time.

Unfortunately, it seemed that was exactly what was happening to him. How else but a hallucination was he supposed to explain seeing Logan standing at the sink, rinsing off dishes that he could have _sworn_ he'd already done?

Before Patton could react, Logan glanced up. He blinked. "What are you doing here, Patton?"

Patton's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Were hallucinations supposed to be able to talk? _I must be_ really _far gone._

Perhaps the craziest thing of all, though, was the fact that Patton decided to talk back. "I think that's my line," he said without thinking.

Logan frowned. "I don't understand. We're not recording a video right now. To refer to our off-camera lives as if they were part of a pre-written dialogue simply does not make sense, unless I've been deeply misinformed for the past thirty years."

Okay, never mind. This was definitely the real Logan.

But then... that didn't make sense, either. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"'Supposed to be'...?" Logan turned the tap off, frustrated. "Alright, really. How have I been operating as a functional part of Thomas for so long without ever once hearing about this script?"

"No, no, there's no —" The rest of Patton's sentence was cut off with a sudden sneeze.

"Gesundheit. Wait, was _that_ my line?" 

Patton shook his head. "There's no script, Logan, it was a figure of speech. I just meant that you need to rest. You're sick!"

"I _was_ sick," Logan corrected him. "I'd hardly say that term still applies to my current state, thanks to you. You've been working so hard to take care of everything in our collective absence; if anyone should be resting, it's you."

Patton was about to argue when another voice cut him off. "Alright, what's all the fuss about?" asked Roman, coming in from the dining room with a feather duster in hand, but stopping short upon seeing Patton. "Pat! I was wondering where you went."

"Living room," was all Patton managed to get out.

"Ah, of course, silly me! Look, thank you so much for all you've done. Why don't you go lie down now? I believe Virgil's still feeling a little under the weather, but Logan and I can take it from here."

Patton stared, trying to spot anything that might give Roman away as a fake produced by his addled imagination, but there was nothing. And oh, it was _so_ tempting, the idea of finally getting to relax. He imagined his bed, feather-soft after so many nights of sleeping on the couch; his collection of stuffed animals just waiting for him to come home. How lovely it would be to just curl up and drift away...

Then Logan winced. "Patton, I beg your pardon, but where did you put the Advil?" he asked. "I checked in the medicine cabinet but couldn't find it."

Just like that, Patton's dreams of dreaming were gone. 

Logan and Roman still needed his help; it would be selfish to abandon them now. _No matter the cost,_ he'd promised, _I'd do_ anything _for you three._

His mind was made up. 

Feigning innocence, Patton smacked himself in the forehead. "Ah, shoot," he said. "I think I must have left it in Virgil's room. Here, I'll go get it."

Roman immediately spoke up. "Oh, absolutely not. It's time for you to go to _sleep,_ Padre. You go to bed; I'll get it."

"That's awfully kind of you, but I'm the one who asked." It was Logan this time, his words still a little stilted as he ground them out from behind what was most likely a headache of some sort. "It would be irresponsible of me to not go myself."

"Oh, come on, calculator watch, you're in pain!"

"Not so much that I've been rendered unable to fend for myself!"

"Guys, _please_ stop fighting," Patton tried to shout, but his voice came out barely above a whisper. Yet somehow it did the trick — two sets of apologetic eyes turned to look at Patton. "Look, at this point I kinda feel like it'd be simplest if you just went together and that was the end of it."

Logan looked like he was about to argue, but Patton shot him a stern look and his mouth shut meekly.

"Great, glad we're all in agreement then. Come on." Without waiting for an answer, Patton turned and hustled both of them up the stairs. _Come on, come on, come on..._ It was excruciating, but he had to make it look like this was no sweat if his plan was going to work. 

The fact that Logan and Roman both had to take a break at the top only solidified Patton's resolve. If he'd had any doubts before, they were long gone now, replaced with one concrete goal: _Get them somewhere they can rest._

"Alright, off to sleep I go," said Patton once he was satisfied that Logan and Roman would both hear it. "Thanks, guys."

"Anytime."

"Oh, and would you do me a favour? Could you please close Virgil's door when you're in there? I think there's a bit of a draft in the hallway and I don't want Virgil to get any worse." Which was the truth. (So what if everything else he'd been saying wasn't?) With that, Patton disappeared into his room.

He didn't go to bed, though — even though every bone in his body was screaming for him to. Instead, he pressed his ear against his wall and listened. A click, the shuffling of feet, and then another click as the door closed.

Patton didn't waste any time leaping into action then. Fast as his legs could carry him, he grabbed a chair and jammed it under Virgil's doorknob. A second chair soon followed, as well as a stack of boxes and a small table. He could hear a muffled commotion beginning inside as Logan and Roman realized they’d been barricaded inside. 

The doorknob rattled. Patton ran.

His feet moved fast, but his thoughts were faster still, and with every step they grew more and more muddled. Had he really just done that? _Maybe this is going too far._

On the other hand, Logan and Roman were only slowing down their own recovery by trying to “help out”. Patton had been handling things just fine by himself so far, after all; why try to fix what wasn’t broken?

He needed a distraction.

Luckily for him (or unluckily, depending on how you wanted to look at it), there was never any shortage of things to be done around the mindscape. For one, he still hadn’t prepared that chicken soup he’d been meaning to. No time like the present.

Again to the kitchen, as if in a dream. He just kept finding himself back here, didn’t he? 

Patton tried to grab a large stockpot off the shelves and nearly hit himself in the face. 

_This thing is so much heavier than I remember,_ he thought, grunting. With a considerable amount of exertion, he lugged the pot over to the sink, then leaned against the wall to catch his breath as it filled up with water. _Maybe I could close my eyes for just a second..._

Patton woke to an overflowing stockpot and the taste of blood in his mouth.

“Shoot, shoot, _shoot!”_ Ignoring a splitting headache — he’d dealt with plenty of those over the past few days, one more was hardly going to faze him — Patton leapt to his feet to turn off the tap. A groan. He couldn’t believe he’d been careless enough to let something like this happen _again._

Lamenting the waste but left with no choice, Patton tipped the pot over and watched its contents swirl down the drain. Once that was finished, he carried the pot out of the sink, took a step, and immediately stumbled. Funny — the room was swirling, too.

Gosh, his head was _killing_ him.

He’d probably hit it against the counter just now, maybe bit his tongue by accident too. At least that would explain why, after setting the pot of water on the stove to boil, Patton couldn’t for the life of him remember what came next.

 _What would Martha Stewart do?_ he wondered. _Add vegetables?_

Vegetables seemed as good a guess as any. Celery, and garlic, and probably carrots too, except Patton did _not_ care much for those and would rather keep the carrot-to-soup ratio to a minimum. He pulled one out of the fridge anyway, if only to fool himself into thinking he was doing the right thing.

Patton gripped a stalk of celery, preparing to chop, except suddenly the _stupid_ shiver was back and the blade of his chopping knife slid off the _stupid dumb_ vegetable and nicked his own _stupid dumb idiot_ finger, and had those little red dots on the cutting board always been there? How come his finger hurt so much, too?

Patton gritted his teeth. _Perfect. Just nifty._ This was _exactly_ the kind of stupid-dumb-idiot moron-thing he needed to deal with right now. 

Maybe, just for today, it’d be easier to break the vegetables by hand instead. 

With that thought, he tried to slide the knife back into its holder, but fumbled. In slow motion, the knife slipped out of his shaking hands; a loud clatter rang out as it fell to the floor, sharp blade narrowly missing chopping off one of his toes.

For several seconds Patton just stared, heart threatening to pump out of his chest but brain a little slower on the uptake. 

Then, to his own surprise, he began to laugh. 

All the confusion and adrenaline and exhaustion and hysteria of the past few days crashed together in an instant, and Patton couldn’t do anything but stand there and take it. He laughed until it hurt to breathe, until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, until he had to grab onto the stovetop to support him in case he passed out for lack of air — he couldn’t stop. The pot was boiling over. He couldn’t stop. 

He wasn’t sure, but he thought someone might have been calling his name. _Maybe it’s God,_ Patton’s feverish mind rather unhelpfully supplied. _Maybe my time has finally come._ That would explain why, the next time he blinked, it was suddenly as if he were looking down at himself from above. He watched as shaky laughs turned to desperate breaths turned to hacking and coughing and choking, turned to not breathing at all. He watched as already-pale skin turned even paler. Eyelids fluttered shut. Fingers released their iron grip, and knees buckled.

Three indistinct-yet-familiar faces came running down the stairs just in time to see his silently swaying body go crashing to the ground, and that was the last thing Patton got to watch before everything went very, very dark.

***

Someone was snoring.

This was unexpected — first and foremost because Patton was sure he _would_ remember inviting any of the others for a sleepover — but not entirely unpleasant. Lulled by the gentle rumble, Patton snuggled deeper into his blanket’s warm embrace and tried to reclaim the nice dream he’d been having a moment ago, even though he could tell he’d already been asleep a long time. He felt more refreshed than he could ever remember feeling.

Was today some kind of holiday? In his drowsy state, Patton couldn’t for the life of him remember the date. Ah, well. Either it was, or it wasn’t — and if it wasn’t, surely Logan would be coming by any second now to wake him up and make sure they stay on schedule. Patton couldn’t think of any other reason why he would have been allowed to sleep in for this long, let alone with a mystery person in the same room to boot. 

Speaking of… who might that be? 

Patton opened his eyes, but for a moment wasn’t quite sure that he had. His surroundings appeared just as dark as the insides of his eyelids. Add that to the list of unexpected things: had he _not_ slept in, after all? But then why did he feel so well-rested? And what was this mystery person doing in his room in the middle of the night?

Sluggish though his brain was, Patton cast aside all hopes of sleep then in favour of trying to remember what might have happened yesterday to lead to this strange set of circumstances today. Memories started coming to him in bits and pieces then: a bright green sticky note marked with bold Sharpie lines, a veritable maze of cobwebs and clawing hands, the weight of an arm around his shoulders…

_Oh, goodness._

This was no holiday. Patton had slept for _far_ too long. 

How long, though? _How long have I left the three of them to fend for themselves?_ Patton wondered, fighting frantically now to extricate himself from the grip of the same sweat-soaked blankets he’d earlier been clinging to. He had to get out there, had to get back to work… Another memory stopped him short: he’d locked them into Virgil’s room. 

Patton sat bolt upright. _I locked them into Virgil’s room!_

He regretted the abrupt movement less than a second later. A searing sensation shot through his left hand, which he’d instinctively used to push himself up, and the previously-dull ache in his chest was flaring up to match. At the sudden pain, Patton couldn’t help but let out an inadvertent yelp.

It was only after the snoring stopped that Patton remembered there was someone else here, too. 

He barely had time to process the thought before the mystery person was on their feet, probably on high alert. Patton’s good hand shot up to cover his mouth, as if silence would somehow render the mystery person unable to find him in this tiny enclosed space.

A hushed voice.

“Are you… awake?”

In the dark, Patton blinked. _“Virgil?”_

His mind was racing a mile a minute trying to keep up with all these new revelations. Why was Virgil in his room? Why was Virgil _asleep_ in his room? Why was _Patton_ asleep in his room, instead of out there making dinner like he could have sworn he’d been doing before? No, that last one was silly — it was clearly past dinnertime, if the darkness surrounding them both was any indication.

Still. _Why was Virgil in his room?_

Patton opened his mouth, unsure where to start but desperately needing to put a voice to some of the confusion. Before he could get even a single word out, though, Virgil cut him off.

“Oh my g — Patton, you’re _back!”_ Virgil said, volume rising in his excitement. “You’re back, you’re — you’re talking to me!” 

Patton’s intelligent response: “Uh. Yup.”

“I — sorry, I just... I can’t believe you’re finally awake. You really scared me there.” Virgil’s voice was a little quieter now. “Scared all of us.”

“What do you…?” Patton paused as the full implication of his friend’s words set in. “Virgil, how long have I been sleeping?”

The silence went on for just a second too long before Virgil spoke, this time the quietest of all. “A little over a week now.”

Patton’s mouth went dry. 

_No way._ Was that even possible?

“Yeah, you were out like a light. Roman was maybe a second away from stabbing you just to get a response.” Virgil swallowed hard. “Hell, Pat, for a moment I almost thought you… weren’t gonna wake up at all, you know?”

“Gosh, Virgil, I’m sorry,” was all Patton could get out. 

“Hey, no, don’t be,” Virgil hurried to backtrack. He huffed out a laugh; too shaky to be convincing, but Patton appreciated the effort. “Ugh, just listen to me going on like this. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you in the first place. You’re here now, aren'tcha?”

“I guess,” said Patton, slowly at first. “But why did it have to be _here_ specifically?” 

“What?”

He gestured at the door (or in its general direction; it was still too dark to see clearly). “I should be out there, Virge! I should be helping! It’s like you said, I’ve been asleep for _more than a week_ while all of you guys were worrying over me. All I ever wanted was to make this stupid fever easier on you, and look how that backfired —” 

“Hey, I’m gonna stop you right there. Look at me.”

Patton sniffled. “I can’t, it’s pitch black in here.”

“...right. One sec.” As Virgil spoke, Patton could hear him busily fumbling around trying to find something. 

Moments later, a flood of daylight assaulted his senses, bright enough to blind him (or at least give him a killer headache, but what else was new?). Patton shrieked like a thing possessed.

“Virgil, what the heck? I thought it was midnight or something!”

“Nope,” replied Virgil, returning to what Patton could now see was a folding chair set up next to Patton’s bedside. The same chair he’d used to block the rest of the Sides into Virgil’s room, Patton realized with a guilty start. “4:00 PM, according to that clock above your bed. You’ve just got really nice light-blocking curtains in here. D’you think you could hook me up sometime?”

“But you were asleep!” 

“Yeah, I’ve been waiting here for some time. My hibernation instincts kicked in.” That just raised even more questions, but Virgil waved them away. “Not the point. _Now_ look at me.”

Patton looked. What he saw was an exhausted, unnaturally pale young man with eyeshadow several shades darker than usual. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Someone who cares about you just as much as you care about them, Patton,” was the reply. “Listen, while Roman and Logan and I were sick, you took responsibility for _everything._ You were juggling so many things at once, and honestly it’s kind of unbelievable that you managed to go for as long as you did without dropping any of them. But the truth is, that’s just not healthy. You ended up overworking yourself so much, you literally _passed out_ because of it. Not to mention what happened to your hands.”

“My hands?” Patton repeated. “What do you…?”

The rest of his question died on his lips once Patton looked down. His brain must be even hazier than he’d thought, because once he saw the fresh white gauze carefully wrapped around both palms, he had no idea how he’d managed to miss them. 

Patton didn’t quite understand until another memory pushed to the surface: him clinging to a heated stovetop, boiling water spilling over the sides of a stockpot. 

Suddenly, the burning pain he’d felt when he’d pushed himself up earlier made a lot more sense.

But something still didn’t add up. “Who’s been changing my bandages?” Patton asked, although he had a feeling he already knew the answer. 

Virgil’s silence only confirmed his suspicions. 

_It was him. Of course, it was him._

“Doesn’t matter,” the anxious Side finally said. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s your turn to rest. You deserve it. Let us do the work for a change, okay?”

“But —”

“No buts. Or else I’m gonna get Roman and Logan in here, too.”

“You don’t need to —”

“Too late, I’m already doing it.” Never once breaking eye contact with Patton, Virgil leaned out the door to shout downstairs. _“Hey, losers! Patton’s awake!”_

 _“What?!”_ Roman’s voice distantly shouted back.

“Virgil, really, I’m not worth the trouble — ”

_“And he’s talking bad about himself!”_

Logan this time, at near-’falsehood’ levels of volume: _“WHAT?!”_

A loud crash, as of a dinner plate shattering. Patton winced. No time to worry about that now, though; he could hear urgent footsteps threatening to pound right through the stairs if someone wasn’t careful.

Logan was the first to arrive. The huffing and puffing stopped short, as did his movements, once he caught sight of Patton sitting up in bed. 

“Patton, I…”

Despite everything Logan might say to the contrary, behind his thick glasses, dark eyes brimmed with all manner of emotion. For once in his life, the eloquent Side appeared to have been rendered speechless. Silence stretched for an instant.

The instant didn’t last long. 

Next thing either of them knew, Roman was blazing into the room, recklessly shoving Logan aside in his quest to reach Patton and envelop him in the most bone-crushing bear hug he’d ever received. 

“Woah,” wheezed Patton. 

“Oh, thank Madonna,” was Roman’s response, sobbed out into the nape of Patton’s neck as he squeezed even tighter. Patton let out a squeak.

“Hey, Roman? This is great and all but you’re kind of crushing me so if you could loosen up just a bit so I could breathe thatwouldbe _great_ — _”_

“Right, I’m sorry.” Reluctantly, but just in time, Roman released his still-fragile friend. Down went Patton, breath coming in little wheezes that would be almost comical if it weren’t for how uncomfortably familiar they felt.

Roman opened his mouth to continue his thought. Logan shot him a glare. “At least wait until his lips are less _blue,”_ he hissed.

“No, it’s alright,” Patton managed to say. “Go ahead, Roman, don’t worry about me.”

A sigh. “Hate to break it to you, but I think it might be too late for that.” Roman seemed uncertain of where to put his hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re okay. You wouldn’t believe how _relieved_ I am! But still, we were all so worried about you.”

Taking care not to disturb the bandages, Patton pushed himself back up to a sitting position so he could give Roman a sympathetic look. “Aw, Ro.”

“Would you mind if I… hugged you again? _Gently.”_

In response, Patton opened his arms. And oh, Roman hadn’t been lying — this time, he embraced Patton gingerly, his touches if at all, as if Patton was a delicate butterfly and even the slightest pressure would snap one of his wings.

His heart broke. Did Roman not know how safe he felt in the creative side’s arms? Yes, he’d seen those arms slay dragons, but he’d also seen them weaving flower crowns and adding finishing brushstrokes to paintings and bringing nectar to hummingbirds, and all manner of equally delicate things. 

_Don’t worry,_ Patton wanted to say. _I trust you._

But Roman pulled away before he had the chance.

“I really am glad to see you awake, Patton,” he murmured into Patton’s ear, thumb still softly tracing circles on Patton’s shoulder — until, without warning, his grip tightened and Roman pulled back to look at Patton with an intensity he’d never seen before. 

“Roman?”

“Listen to me,” Roman demanded in response. His eyes seemed to be boring right into Patton’s. “Don’t you dare do that again. _Ever.”_

Patton’s forehead wrinkled. “Do what?”

“Prioritize our health at the cost of neglecting your own.” Although quiet and controlled, the sound of Logan’s voice momentarily startled Patton; the logical Side had been patiently standing off to the side for so long, they’d all forgotten he was even there. “Patton, I appreciate that you were only trying to help, but there is a fine line between selfless and self-sacrificial _._ And you crossed it.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Patton, lips twisting off to the side in an uneasy frown.

But Logan wasn’t finished. “You may have thought you were doing us a favour by refusing to allow us to assist you. But at that point, when we were clearly in a better condition than you, your actions only put all of us at risk.”

“Hey, teach? Maybe dial it back a bit?”

Logan didn’t appear to have heard Virgil. He absently pushed his hair back with one hand, which then rested on the back of his head. “Do you _know_ how frightening it was to see you reduced to a — a heap on the floor? Do you realize what could have happened had Roman’s sword not been strong enough to chop through the barricade _you_ made at our door?”

 _“Logan,”_ Virgil repeated, more firmly this time.

“Your job is to serve as Thomas’s Morality.” Both hands were buried deep in his hair now. “You can’t do that if you’re — ”

“I’m sorry,” Patton breathed.

Logan caught himself, glanced over to see Patton wearing an expression Logan could only describe as being akin to that of a kicked puppy. _Oh, no._

“I just… you all were so much worse off than me. The only one who could even get out of bed was Roman, and if you’d seen him wandering around like I did, not even remembering his own _name_ , you’d be worried too!” Patton drew in a breath, gingerly pulling his arms in towards his body and refusing to look at the already-worried faces his friends wore around him. “It felt so selfish, the idea of taking a break while you three so obviously needed help.”

Above his head, Logan glanced at first Virgil, then Roman. Someone ought to say something. But seeing as both Virgil and Roman appeared to be struggling for words, that someone ought to be —

He heaved a sigh.

— him.

Taking care not to jostle Patton too much, Logan lowered himself down onto the mattress and laid a hand on Patton’s back, right where he himself had often felt the moral Side’s comforting touch after straining his eyes on a laptop screen late into the night. Patton flinched a bit, but didn’t pull away.

When he spoke, it was with a voice gentler than any of them had ever heard Logan use. “It’s _never_ selfish to ask for help.”

On the other side of Patton, Logan felt rather than saw Roman nod. “I’m with Pouty McSpecs over here,” he said, perhaps trying to lighten the mood a bit. “As the late, great Ms. Frizzle once said: _Do not be afraid to ask for help. Nobody gets through college on their own.”_

Logan blinked. “That... was Michelle Obama.”

“Yeah, there were so many things wrong with that statement I’m not even gonna try and unpack it all,” Virgil agreed.

“I’m _pretty_ sure it was the Friz.” Roman shook his head. “Anyway, not the point. You see what we’re saying, right, Patton? You won’t be able to take care of anyone if you’re not properly taking care of yourself first.” He gestured to Patton’s injured hands. “I mean, all this for a bowl of broth?”

“Not the time, Princey.”

“Sorry.”

“Speaking of time.” Virgil rose to his feet with a stretch. “I think it’s time for us to leave you be. You still need your rest.” 

Patton opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off with a yawn so long he couldn’t remember what he’d meant to say by the time it was finished. Already-flushed cheeks grew even redder with embarrassment.

“I rest my case.” He turned to the others. “Come on, I’m pretty sure _someone’s_ got a shattered dinner plate to clean up.”

Roman flinched. “Ah. That.” 

“Yeah, that. Let’s move!” As Virgil shooed Roman and Logan out of the room, he snuck one last glance back at Patton, who had a lopsided smile on his face, crooked in the most genuine of ways, as if biting back a laugh as he settled himself back down under his bedsheets and snuggled in tight.

Something fluttered in Virgil’s chest. Warm, it felt, and light and fuzzy and — and _inexplicable_ , until he realized: it was the first time he’d seen Patton smile in weeks.

Patton was alright. Everything was going to be alright.

“Sleep tight, pops,” whispered Virgil as the door clicked shut.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this should-have-been-a-2k fic exclusively in half-hour chunks over the course of over three weeks and honestly i’m not sure what happened to it. but i mean, here we are. and here YOU are, having read all the way to the end, so… leave a comment maybe? :’)
> 
> edit: i accidentally clicked "post" early. whoops. ah well, looks like you AO3 folks get early access to this one! (this'll be posting on my tumblr August 4, in case you prefer reading there.)


End file.
